


you didn't get to heaven but you made it close

by maranhig



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 10:50:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1685630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maranhig/pseuds/maranhig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>trading sloppy first time blowjobs are always cliché.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you didn't get to heaven but you made it close

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [though the stars walk backward](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1152503) by [maranhig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maranhig/pseuds/maranhig). 



> part of a perspective-shift remix i will never find time to finish, so. here. title from coldplay.

"Jesus," he moans, his breath rattling in his chest as you lick a long slow strip up the side of his cock. "Oh Jesus fuckdammit _Rick._ "

You’re unable to hold back your triumphant grin as you suck him into your mouth, stroking what you can't reach. It's so excitingly new, can't be farther removed from going down on a woman, but it still affects you all the same. Everything you try makes him tremble and sweat and curse, but mostly say your name in that sweetly ruined tone raking down your spine in such a good way. At it long enough that your jaw aches a bit, but then he bucks up hard with a mangled sound at you rolling his balls in your free hand, nearly knocks your teeth out. You pull away coughing, and you glare at him when he whines in complaint.

"Wound up real tight, eh, Daryl?" you manage to say, and his eyes near-solidify with desire at the rasp in your damaged voice.

"Haven't been able to get laid much since shit hit the fan, so yeah, pretty hair-trigger right now." He's trying to shoot for sarcastic but only ends up sounding desperate. Not that you want him to impress you with his libido anyway, because it gives you this sick little thrill, _look, i did this, look what i can do._

You sit back on your heels, pull your jeans down just far enough and clamber atop him, slotting a knee between his thighs, yanking his hair back to mouth at his neck. He hisses, clutches your ass to grind against you even harder. For a while that's all you do, a dizzying furnace building in your stomach, nothing existing but this.

Then he's rolling you over so he's straddling you, and isn't that a sight, his mussed up hair falling in his face but those postage stamp blue eyes still burning into yours. "Like hell are we doin this like middle schoolers," he pants, and now it's him snaking down your body to curl his tongue around you through your boxers, and you bite the inside of your cheek hard enough that that old pennies taste floods your mouth.

"Daryl, oh god," you stammer as he tugs your underwear away for better access. "You, you really don't have to if you don't –"

But he already has that look about him that you've seen a lot before, the one he used to get when you'd order him around those first few months of knowing each other. You'd forgotten how he gets all stubborn and determined when he isn’t sure of something, because he never backs down from a challenge. And now that challenge, it seems, is finding exactly what it takes to shove you off and over the edge. Tentative kitten licks at first, then pretty much sucking your brains out through your dick. It's clumsy and uncoordinated like everything you’ve done to each other so far, but it’s _Daryl_ , and the way he pulls off to take a breather and mutter about how bitter the taste is affects you just as much as when his mouth and hands are busy on you.

Despite his griping and groaning about it, and your tugging on hair in warning, he keeps at it until you're coming hard down his throat. Once you feel more solid again, not like you're going to float away at the slightest gust of wind, you realize Daryl's kneeling to the side desperately trying to bring himself off. Gaspy, punched out breaths are coming from his hunched over form, and you burble in protest, tug him until you get to mouth at his shoulder and he can grind into your compliant body, finish with a barely-held back whine.


End file.
